


Someone to Spend the Last Day of the World with

by dawittiest



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Black Widow Vol. 6 (2016), Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Hickmanvengers Fallout, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay, Pegging, Praise Kink, Spanking, Superior Iron Man Fallout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6462700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawittiest/pseuds/dawittiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight months after the final incursion the world slowly adjusts to the new normal and Tony Stark, again, is all alone.</p><p>Natasha Romanov – agent, avenger, assassin turned enemy of S.H.I.E.L.D. – not for the first time finds herself in a situation where she has no one to turn to… except maybe ol’ Shellhead.</p><p>They both know very well you can never quite be free from the demons of your past but being with each other makes it somehow better.</p><p>(And pegging. Pegging makes everything better.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone to Spend the Last Day of the World with

**Author's Note:**

> So... Nat/Tony. I don't know, I was thinking they would actually be good for each other and then this happened. So, enjoy.
> 
> As you will see, I try to deal with a few bullshit decisions in the recent comics canon, some of them are in the tags. This would need like a 100k story to do it properly but this is my way of making peace with it, for this moment at least.
> 
> It takes place right after the first issue of Black Widow Vol. 6. I'm playing with Nat's injuries a little for the sake of (very sparse) plot. When it comes to the current Iron man run... actually, I don't want to deal with it, it's so awful, let's just pretend it's somewhen before that, no matter the release dates. This is mostly an elaborate excuse for porn anyway. It pretends to have a plot and then it doesn't.
> 
>  _Huge_ thanks to autumnchris for beta and ~~stroking my ego~~ a very detailed review and to PreciousI (saved by the notepad) for assuring me that, in fact, I can write smut.

The door to his lab is slightly ajar and there’s a faint light pouring through the slit. Tony knows for a fact that he didn’t leave the lamp on. The entrance is protected by the most advanced security system in the world, if he does say so himself – after all, the work he does here in the wrong hands could be turned into the tool of total destruction (there’s enough destruction done by his own hand, Tony thinks). And yet the keypad is blinking at him innocuously, no alerts triggered. Tony can think of few people on Earth that could access his lab so easily without tripping the alarms. None of them would be sloppy enough to let themselves be caught because of something as stupid as _leaving_ _the_ _light on_. Silently, as soundlessly as he can manage, Tony lets his gauntlet slip over his hand and cautiously approaches the door.

The lab is still and silent in the night, nothing disrupted from its spot where left it an hour ago. Except. Tony frowns. There, behind the bench, a thin trail of – blood? - and it’s leading to…

Tony lets his hand fall to his side.

“Natasha,” he breathes out.

Natasha’s perched on the lab bench, sitting so motionlessly that his gaze almost slipped past her in the half-dark. Her gleaming eyes are boring into his.

“Tony,” she says. “I need your help.”

He notices the stiff way she’s holding herself, her right hand pressed to the side of her abdomen.

“You’re hurt,” he realizes.

Natasha’s eyes follow his line of sight and a tiny frown appears on her forehead.

“It’s nothing,” she dismisses him.

“Nothing? You bled all over my floor,” Tony points out, incredulous. Natasha impatiently rolls her eyes.

“That’s mostly not my blood.”

Tony reaches for the med kit – thank god he’s always keeping it stocked in case of lab emergencies – and gently tugs her hand away.

“Let me look at it.” He winces with sympathy. “Ouch. This will leave an ugly scar. You should go to the hospital, you know, there’s only so much I can do.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” Natasha insist but lets him examine her wound. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Uh-uh,” Tony says. “Fine. It’s just a fall from 40,000 feet, right? I saw on the TV. I’d say it’s a miracle you’re even alive but I know you better than that.”

The corner of Natasha’s mouth twitches.

“You probably need stitches,” he assess. “Do you want painkillers? I’ve done those enough on myself…”

“Just do it,” Natasha says curtly. For a moment Tony falls silent, focusing on his task.

“So,” he picks up. “S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most wanted, right? What did you do to piss Maria Hill off? I thought you two were practically married these days.”

Natasha looks at him with an inscrutable face. Tony tries not to shift in unease.

“Are you going to arrest me?” she asks.

An involuntary laugh escapes Tony’s lips.

“Please,” he snorts. “That would be a little hypocritical of me, don’t you think? After all, I’m only able to walk free because what do you do with a man who’s responsible for killing worlds?” Bitterness creeps into his voice. He averts his face. He can see Natasha in his peripheral vision observing him, pensive.

“For a smart man like you, Tony, you can be really dumb sometimes,” she says. Tony turns to her. “So are you going to help me?”

“I still don’t know what is it you want my help with,” he points out.

Natasha holds his gaze.

“There’s no time for explanations.”

“Right,” Tony says. “I’m just supposed to trust you.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows.

“Don’t you?”

Tony pinches his eyes and groans.

“Dammit, Tasha.” He lets out a sigh. “Alright. What do you want me to do?”

Natasha smiles.

 

* * *

 

 They’re flying 36,000 miles over the Pacific, Natasha in a one-manned experimental semi-shuttle he designed, Tony in his Iron man armor, boots glued to the right wing. She refused to tell him where they are headed earlier, gave him only the string of coordinates, but he supposes he’ll know soon enough. They land on a patch of dry ground, a small distance from a grim stone facility, indistinguishable from any other this sort he’s seen. He asks her what is this place.

“A place,” Natasha says vaguely, shrugging with one arm. Tony scowls but swallows down his questions.

“I need you to dismantle the security,” she instructs. They reached a smooth metal door with a single entrance pad, screen black and no keyboard.

Tony raises his brow.

“Is this a stealth mission?” he asks but gets to work anyway. “Cause you know, if you do stealth you don’t really want _Iron_ man.”

Natasha curls a corner of her mouth in a smile and quirks her eyebrow.

“I thought the point of this fancy new armor was that it can change into any earlier model of yours. Or did it just all mixed up in my head that you specifically have designed a stealth armor?”

“You know all my tricks, don’t you?” Tony asks rhetorically. “Here. Done.”

“I do,” she says plainly and slides past him.

They wander the long, bare corridors, delving deeper and deeper into the facility without encountering any resistance. It feels like going into the heart of the labyrinth. The walls blur before Tony’s eyes; he doesn’t think he could find his way out on his own if he had to. From time to time Natasha asks him to crack another keypad, sometimes she does it herself. There’s only a hum of his repulsors and a faint clang of the armor joints. The silence is disquieting.

“Should it be so quiet?” Tony wonders out loud.

“There,” Natasha says suddenly and comes to a stop. They’re at some sort of a bridge, if a land facility should have one. Natasha makes her way to the control console.

“Why is there no one here?” he asks as Natasha rummages in her pouch. “This has to be too easy.”

“I guess we’re about to find out,” she says and pushes a device to a USB node.

For a moment nothing happens. Then suddenly the console blinks to life. Natasha sets to work.

“Are you stealing?” he asks with a quirked brow, leaning to look over her shoulder. Natasha doesn’t take a pause.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you I’m stealing from a thief?” she asks.

“A little,” Tony admits. “What are you stealing?”

She just raises her eyebrow.

“Okay.” He lifts his gauntlets, palms down, in a gesture of capitulation. “I trust your judgement.”

After a moment Natasha straightens up.

“It’s done,” she says, the device disappearing back in one of her pouches. Tony looks around, half-expecting the alarms to start blazing off.

“You know, this unsettlingly reminds me of the project Oktober.”

Natasha’s eyebrows climb on her forehead.

“Do you still have concerns about me being a KGB sleeper agent?”

“That depends,” Tony says. “Are you going to zap me now? Because if you do I’d like to prepare myself, last time it hurt like a bitch.”

 

They get back to the shuttle without any incidents.

“Well, that was surprisingly smooth,” Tony says, wrapping himself in a hug, a little stiff in the armor, not sure what to do with his arms now. “Wish every mission went like this.”

Natasha smiles under her nose, walking around to the shuttle’s door hatch.

“I guess this is a goodbye,” she says.

Tony is suddenly, inexplicably hit with a strong urge to pull her close to him and never let her go. For a moment it was almost like old times and now she’s off to disappear again, an enemy of S.H.I.E.L.D., with no certain future he can look forward to.

“When will I see you again?” he asks, disappointment slipping into his voice. He thinks about his cold, lonely apartment and for a second he has trouble swallowing.

“Sentimentality? Tony Stark?” She crosses her hands over her chest. “I wouldn’t peg that for your style.” There’s a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Her mouth twitches. Tony gives her a slightly self-deprecating smile.

“You know me. Spoilt rich brat, right, used to always getting what he wants.”

“And what do you want, Tony?” she asks, taking a slow step towards him.

He coughs, his throat suddenly dry (what the fuck is going on), and puts on a little flat smile. Natasha straightens up. Tony takes a step back. The strange mood evaporates from the air.

“Will you at least tell me where are you going?” Natasha opens her mouth. “I know, I know, dumb question.” He winces. “Just—be careful?”

“I always am, Tony,” she says. It sounds like a promise though.

He watches her as she opens the shuttle door.

“I—wait,” he blurts. Natasha turns her head to him. Tony cringes inwardly. _Great, now what_? “I just… Do you have to go tonight? I mean—why are you in such a hurry?”

“I’m in possession of very sensitive files…” she begins slowly.

“I know, I know, just—” He sighs. “You’ve been on a constant run since this morning’s escape from the Helicarrier and who knows how long before that and you didn’t even get a chance to go to the hospital, and now you’re leaving god knows where…” He takes a step forward and places his hands on her shoulders. He can’t feel the warmth of her body through the armor but he imagines it under his palms. “All I ask for is one night.” He frowns. “That didn’t come out right.” Natasha quirks her lips amusedly. “What I mean is – you need rest. Stay in the Tower for a night? You got your files we came for, okay, and Hill won’t ever know you were with me—actually, scratch that, she’ll probably know, she’s got a weird seventh sense for these things—she won’t be able to prove that, anyway, and I don’t know when you will find a next safe stop and—”

“Okay.” Tony cuts off mid-sentence. Stares.

“Okay?” he says disbelievingly.

She shrugs.

“You’re right, I do need a rest. And it probably will be long until I’m able to catch a breath, so.” She shrugs again.

“Okay,” he repeats, just to make sure.

Natasha smiles and curls her hands around his elbows.

“I’ll stay the night with you,” she promises.

 

* * *

 

Natasha is staring at him, thoughtful, over her tea. Tony shivers, feeling oddly naked in his undershirt and jeans under her intent gaze.

“You look terrible,” she finally says.

His skin tingles. Tony regrets turning on the main lights in the living room, suddenly self-conscious.

“Yeah?” he says, without much heat. “Well, you look…” He flaps his hand vaguely. ”…amazing, actually. As you always do.” He sighs. “Damnit.”

Natasha’s lips curl in amusement but she stays silent.

“Can I get you something to eat?” he asks awkwardly after a beat. Natasha puts away her cup carefully.

“I’m good.” She stretches like a cat and stands up, her joints clicking. “Why am I here, Tony?” she asks. “Really.” He opens his mouth.

“No, I know.” Natasha waves her hand flippantly, anticipating his words. “You don’t want me to leave until I get some rest. I know what a mother hen you can be.” Tony feels his face heat up. “But other than that, why am I here?”

Tony works his jaws.

“I miss it,” he blurts. He cringes, thinks to deflect and decides not to. “I mean, the kids, they are great, but sometimes… I miss the old team. I miss… some people,” he stumbles. _Oh, god._

“You miss Steve,” she says, nothing sliding past her. He winces.

“I miss you too,” he tries.

“But you mostly miss him,” she points out calmly. “You know, you should tell him that.” Tony scowls.

“He hates me,” he says.

“That man is exactly as capable of hating you as you are of hating him.” Tony starts to protest. “He’s angry,” she interrupts him. “Steve’s many things, but lord knows he’s not good at processing his feelings so he lashes out. You’ll sort out your issues. You always have.”

“I deleted his _memories_ ,” Tony says miserably. No matter it was Strange who actually did this, it was him who gave the final word. It was him that hurt Steve the most. “I went behind his back and built planet-killing bombs. How do we go back from that.”

“He was ready to bring down his shield on your neck and you went back to being Steve-and-Tony after that.”

He turns away sharply.

“That was different,” he says in a quiet voice.

“Really,” Natasha says dryly.

Tony shakes his head and lets out a small laugh.

“You know,” he says conversationally. “You are probably the only person that’s never tried to cut ties with me. I’ve done some truly fucked up things but you always stuck with me through all that.”

Natasha is silent for a while.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Tony blinks.

“What for?” he asks, thrown off.

“That I left you there, in Wakanda in the City of the Dead, after me and Jess found you.” She doesn’t meet his eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“That’s okay,” Tony says automatically.

Natasha jerks her head.

“I came looking for your help, and when I decided you weren’t gonna give me that, I gave up on you.” She runs her hand through her hair, shakes her head. Sighs. That’s the most emotion she has shown throughout the night; Tony wonders how long it has been eating her up. “There were other pressing matters, there was the end of the _multiverse_ to worry about, so I deemed you collateral damage and moved on. I thought we had no time to waste on Tony Stark.” She twists her lips bitterly.

“You were probably right,” Tony says.

“I was wrong,” she says fiercely, meeting his eyes. Tony’s taken aback by the fire in her stare. “I should’ve found the way to help you.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Tony shrugs dismissively.

“If the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t have left me there to rot,” she says with simple conviction.

Tony knows this is probably true. He also knows that there’s Natasha’s life and then there’s his, and there’s a huge gap between the worth of the two.

“It’s probably better that you left me there, anyway,” he says, averting her eyes. “Who knows how much more damage I would’ve caused if I’ve walked away freely that day.” He briefly closes his eyes. He can feel Natasha’s gaze boring into his back, unrelenting, not judging.

Something in him breaks.

“I’ve hurt so many people,” he whispers.

He’s never said it out loud before. It feels cathartic, in a way, like he imagines cutting off a limb that threatens to infect the whole body is. He didn’t let himself think about it, at first. It wasn’t the time, he reasoned, he had no luxury to let himself fall apart now. The world still needed him (even if the countless others might have been better off if he just let himself sink into the bottle), needed him to build bombs, always more bombs, ‘cause in the end it was all he came down to.

He didn’t let himself think about the other worlds he was killing, not really. He knew, of course, the numbers, so much blood he would never be able to wash off his hands. He made peace with that, he thought. Not for the noble reasons. They were beyond that now. It was almost funny, living the life he had, Tony has never deluded himself that he’d get to die peacefully in his own bed. But he used to think (hope) that he’d meet his end head on, go out in the last blaze of glory. A hero’s death, maybe. But there was no dying and no glory, just a selfish need to save what is _his_ , let all the other worlds burn, and living, the one thing he never counted on, living with memory of every single one of his sins, his own purgatory on earth.

“I thought I knew how to be a monster,” he says. Natasha is silent. “I’ve done… so many things I regret in my life. But this… this is another brand of hell.”

He laughs quietly.

“You know, that’s… I killed worlds.” He tries to sound flippant, wavers. “I… not directly, but I built bombs that were meant to destroy planets. I’m responsible for the deaths of billions. And yet…” His throat clicks. “I can’t stop thinking about these people in San Francisco. It should mean nothing.” He shrugs. “A flea in the sea of red, right? But I can’t… I can’t…” He pinches his eyes.

“You weren’t yourself,” Natasha says quietly.

“I know,” he says. And yet. And yet. “Does it ever go away?” he asks. “The guilt?”

Natasha is quiet for a moment.

“No,” she says finally. “You try to wipe the red off. Pay the debt. But it never goes away. But I think you know that.”

Tony smiles faintly.

“But how do I continue to exist with a knowledge that I’m responsible for the deaths of worlds? How do I live after that? Is there a point to it?”

“You have a strong instinct to survive. So do I. But in the end you weren’t able to pull the trigger.”

“I still…” he argues.

“You always have worn your guilt well.” Natasha’s eyes soften. “But it isn’t your burden to carry.”

“Tasha…” he whispers.

“You really look terrible, Tony,” she says gently, her slim fingers slipping into his hair. “You need to sleep more.”

Tony lets his eyelids drop and chuckles mirthlessly.

“Do you think I get a lot of that these days?” he asks rhetorically. A frown creases Natasha’s forehead.

“No,” she says, the corners of her lips drawn down. “I do not.”

“What about you, Tasha?” he asks, tilting his head so he can look up at her. Somewhere during their conversation they maneuvered into that position, him, below, sitting in her place on the sofa, and her, above, standing over him. He doesn’t mind. “What is it that lately makes you lose your sleep?”

Her eyes drift to the side, a shadow of hesitation crossing her face.

“So there is something,” he points out.

Natasha furrows and her shoulders drop a little in defeat.

“I have a… feeling,” she says. “This… throb in the back of my head. That I forgot something.” Her lips pull in displeasure. “Something important. A someone.”

“You were made to forget a lot of things,” Tony says carefully, his voice soft. Natasha frowns.

“No, I know that but… This, this is… recent.” Tony avoids her eyes.

“Well,” he says slowly, deliberately weighting every word. “That’s something you need to take up with Barnes.”

Natasha’s eyes widen in surprise.

“The Winter Soldier?”

“I can’t tell you much more than that,” he says. Natasha narrows her eyes.

“You know something,” she says, not a question.

“Something,” he allows. “But that’s really between you and him.”

Natasha regards him silently from under her bangs. Tony waits, his skin prickling in discomfort, if she decides to push. To his surprise she relents.

“Did you—” she interrupts herself. Thinks a little, starts again. “What were you thinking about, in that last moment? You know, before.”

“Before?” he echoes.

“Before the end of the world,” she says simply.

A very inappropriate laughter bubbles inside him because what does it say about his life that he has half a thought to ask her to clarify which? But this time he doesn’t need to think about it.

“Steve,” he says immediately. He cringes but doesn’t take it back.

There’s a hint of a smile playing on Natasha’s lips.

“I was thinking…” she starts. “About a friend,” she says finally. “A person close to me. Someone to spend the last lazy day with, just the two of us, drifting, without a care in the world.”

“It sounds nice,” Tony says truthfully.

“It was,” she agrees.

They fall into silence.

“You know why you asked me to stay with you tonight?” she pipes up after a while. Tony feels a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips.

“Why?” he asks, giving in to the game.

“You’re lonely,” she states simply. Tony doesn’t think to protest. She wouldn’t buy it anyway.

“So you know why I asked you to stay,” he says, his nose brushing her chin (when did her face come so close?). “But I don’t know why you agreed to it.”

Natasha’s hands slip through his hair and come to rest on the base of his skull. He hums contently.

“I guess I’m lonely too,” she says finally.

Tony’s breath hitches and suddenly the air he’s breathing is not his own. His eyelids flutter shut and tentatively he gives in to this urgent feeling prickling under his skin, not unpleasant, just insistent, and pulls Natasha’s face close, buries his hands in her silk hair with a sigh.

There’s nothing else, nothing but the sweet slide of Natasha’s soft lips against his and the rest of the world falls away as she presses her warm form to him, tugs on his shirt a little. They’re just kissing lazily now, not doing anything else, and Tony’s whole body is buzzing with a strange energy, his nerve endings on fire; this is good, this is amazing, and when was the last time he had that? Just a dear person to hold on to?

Suddenly Natasha’s hands on the nape of his neck curl into claws, her sharp nails dig painfully into the skin. The arousal punches Tony in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. He fumbles and pulls away.

“Wait, wait,” he rasps. God, his voice has already gotten so hoarse. He blinks furiously. “Is that, is that a thing? That we’re doing now?”

“It is a thing we _were_ doing,” Natasha says, a hint of amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Would you like to go back to doing that?”

“I…” He licks his lips. “Yeah, I’d like to… Yeah.” Tony kisses her again just to shut up. God, he’s embarrassing. You’d think he hasn’t gotten any since freshman year in college, he’s so bad.

Later, she spreads him on his silk sheets, the coolness of the material almost a burning sensation against his naked skin. Natasha kneels between his legs and trails her fingers down his chest, humming appreciatively. Tony bites on his lip but she withdraws her hand and reaches over to the nightstand. Slowly, he lets out his breath and fixes his eyes on the ceiling. Natasha’s hand returns and Tony feels a soft brush of something cool and slick against his entrance.

His breath hitches.

“Shh,” Natasha coos. Her other hand comes to rest on his side. Tony closes his eyes again tentatively and focuses on the gentle stroke of Natasha’s fingers over his hip bone.

The touch between his legs returns, at first in a slow, deliberate circling motion and then more insistent. Tony realizes he’s shivering.

“Relax,” Natasha purrs, leaning over his chest, and presses a soft kiss to his collarbone. “Release all that tension you’re holding in. You’re so taut,” she hums, her finger stroking against him firmly, knowingly. Tony hides his face in the pillow to muffle a whimper. “Let go for me.”

The tip of her thumb slides in. Tony gasps. Natasha hums to herself in content and pushes it further until it catches on the first bone. He knows he’s blushing all over but it feels so good, his skin burning up and her cool finger massaging his inner walls, stretching him open. He bites on his lip and bites it harder when Natasha slides her thumb all the way in, before withdrawing it completely and replacing it with her index finger. She gives him a deep thrust, as far as it goes, and the finger is quickly joined by another. Tony’s flushing furiously at this point, his eyes pinched and hands fisting the sheets uselessly. She should stop teasing him, he thinks, and then, nonsensically: this is nice, just taking it slow, right, he can take it slow, he’s in a rush all the time, always fast pace, never a break, and he’s already aroused half out of his mind—

Natasha flicks her wrist _just so_ and then she spreads her fingers, wide, wide, wide.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh,” Tony chants, unable to hold it in any longer. He thinks he has bit through his lip.

Natasha bends her head and the tips of her hair tickle his chest. Tony blinks his eyes open, feeling hot and cold all over. He pants, tries to catch his breath.

“I…” he gasps. “I liked your hair longer,” he breathes out, words to fill in the silence. Natasha’s mouth quirks in quiet amusement.

“Did you now?” she asks mildly and _oh_ , there’s a third finger pushing into him. His eyes pinch closed.

“I mean…” he struggles. “Not that… you don’t look— _oh_ —great right now…”

“Tony,” she says fondly. “Shut up.”

He closes his mouth obediently.

It occurs to him that spread on his back like that, with Natasha’s almost entire hand in his ass now, he’s completely and utterly at her mercy. It runs through him like an electric current, his senses flaring up, and he’s suddenly hyper-aware of his every nerve ending. He can’t help but rock helplessly into Natasha’s palm, his cock swinging heavily over his stomach, hard just enough for it to be painful, and he could _cry,_ how much he needs something to relieve the pressure. He doesn’t dare touch himself though.

This is better, he thinks, as Natasha twists her fingers and all he can do is shake on his two thousand thread count sheets. Let Natasha decide when and how he is pleasured. Tony just… lets go and it’s a thrill in itself, to succumb willingly to her control. Complete surrender.

Natasha cranes her neck to press a soft kiss against his lips. He can taste a coppery tang of his own blood on his tongue.

“You’re beautiful,” she says in a quiet wonder. Tony’s eyes flutter open.

In the pale moonlight falling into the room through the tall windows behind her back she looks almost like a ghost, fiery red hair a sharp contrast to the soft roundness of her white breasts. Tony tries to reply _So are you_ but the words get mixed on his tongue and come out a choked moan.

“Shh,” Natasha soothes him. Her fingers disappear and Tony can’t quite hold in a needy whimper. She pats his knee and then wipes off her fingers on his inner thigh. He flushes harder.

Natasha draws back and her hands completely leave his body. Tony blinks, trying to gather his wits that are currently splattered somewhere in a gray mush on the floor, and props himself on his elbows.

“Wait, where are you…” he starts.

“Easy,” Natasha murmurs and strokes his belly, soothing. Tony lets his eyelids slid close and falls back on the sheets.

There’s a bit of rustling and he hears the sound of the leather straps snapping on the metal loops. Against himself his belly clenches up in anticipation.

“Easy,” Natasha repeats and her hands fall to his inner thighs, her thumbs stroking lightly the tender skin there. “Relax, Tony, that’s right, open up for me.” He lets her spread his legs wider and tries to relax his strained muscles. Natasha brushes his sweaty hair from his forehead and bumps her nose against his lightly, once. Tony opens his eyes.

“You’re so good,” she purrs. Something hot and needy curls up low in his belly. “You’re so good for me, Tony. So good,” she sighs, burying her face in his neck. “So beautiful.” Tony moans pathetically in reply.

A cool, insistent pressure lines up against his hole; Natasha bows her head and braces her hands on his hips. “Is this alright?” she asks in a gentle voice.

“Yeah,” he whispers; an involuntarily shiver goes down his spine.

“Easy,” Natasha says again and pushes in.

Tony closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. It’s tight, it’s a tight fit, even as she moves inside him in an agonizing tempo but slowly his muscles adjust around the shaft and it slides easier, smoother. Tension bleeds out from his body and he can feel a low thrum of pleasure building up in his groin. Natasha snaps her hips, driving home again, and again, and again, picking up her pace and _oh_ , it’s perfect, the cool slide of her length and a ghost of her warm breath in the crook of his shoulder, he really needed that, he—

He’s rocking into her every thrust, moaning shamelessly, and Natasha’s whispering sweet nothings into his skin, telling him how beautiful he is and how good he’s being for her and it’s perfect, it’s the best feeling in the world but somehow it’s not _enough_.

“More,” he moans nonsensically, his mouth catching up to his body before his brain does, but Natasha understands him anyway. She wraps her hands around his thighs and pulls him closer, pushing in him more insistently and this is _it_ , this is precisely what he needs, just that, the sweet drag of her shaft inside and the tight grip on her nails on his hip. He’s going to feel it in the morning, he knows, and he thinks about tomorrow, having to sit through the hours of meetings, his ass still sore from Natasha’s fucking and he clenches.

Natasha makes a noise of approval and swats him with a loose strap hanging at her harness on the cheek.

“Ophh,” Tony exhales, his eyes snapping open. “Do… do that again,” he gasps.

Natasha smooths her hand over his ass and brings the strap down in a quick swish. His hips jerk violently.

“You like that?” she hums, scrapping her teeth lightly on the line of his jaw. “Hmm? You like it when I spank you?”

“Nghhyes,” he forces, tortured. Natasha hums thoughtfully and smacks him again, this time with her hand.

“Harder,” he begs. He can’t look her in the eyes but this feels too good, so he just swallows, swallows down his pride, probably, and chokes out a strangled moan, hot all over with humiliation. This turns him on too, god, what is wrong with him…

“Turn over,” Natasha orders. Tony scrambles to obey but he must be moving too slow for her because Natasha wraps her hands around his thighs and manhandles him on his stomach. She slips out of him in the process and Tony groans at the loss but Natasha calms him with her hands running over his cheeks, spreading him open, and then she brings them down harshly, one and then the other. He gasps, and moans loudly as she pistons right back in without a warning, burying to the hilt deep inside him, and he rolls his hips helplessly, trying to fuck himself harder on her length and drools all over the pillows.

He’s painfully aware that he’s even more on a display like that, with his ass in the air and his knees spread shamelessly, and he thinks he’ll never stop blushing now, but fuck, this feels so good, and then Natasha hits him again, harder, two quick swats to his left cheek and then to the right and this is— _god_ , this is too much, he’s going to explode, he’s gonna…

“I’m… I’m gonna come,” he groans, his face mushed against the pillow. Natasha runs her fingers, feather-like, over his abused flesh, considering, and gives him a harsh smack.

“Not yet,” she says and his balls tighten at that painfully. He’s smearing the precome all over his sheets; he feels like he’s going to burst right out of his skin. Natasha bends her head and places a kiss between his shoulder blades, stroking his cheek lovingly before giving it a resounding slap. Oh, it stings and this time Natasha doesn’t give him time to catch his breath, she spanks him again, and again, until his skin _burns_ , and it’s all laced together, painandpleasure, pleasureandpain, making his head spin, a searing hot desire tightening low in his gut.

“I… Tasha,” he manages to gasp. “I’m gonna… I can’t…”

She kneads gently the raw skin and presses a open-mouthed kiss to his shoulder. “Ask me,” she whispers into his ear.

“Please,” Tony gasps. “Please, let me come, please, Tasha, _please_ …”

Natasha tugs gently at his balls and he _whimpers_ , and it’s all he can do not to come. “Please,” he breathes into the pillow and there are _actual tears_ in his eyes, how perfect and terrible and _perfect_ it is.

“Come,” Natasha purrs, wrapping her hand around his cock. “Come for me, Tony.”

It hits him in the gut with a force of a freight train. Natasha _squeezes_ and the backs of his eyelids white out in pleasure and he’s—he’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming— Natasha fucks and strokes him through his orgasm, mouthing soft words of praise against his shoulder, until he’s spilled all his load and is left shaking, strung out and overflown with bliss.

When he comes back to it (no pun intended), someone has washed him with a damp cloth and the solid weight between his legs has disappeared, leaving him oddly hollow inside. He can hear Natasha panting quietly somewhere close just out of his peripheral vision. Tony rolls lazily on his side and peeks at her from under the arm flung over his face.

Natasha’s head is thrown back, her mouth open, and she’s touching herself, her fingers working furiously over her clit. Tony can smell her arousal from where he’s splayed on the bed, and _hear_ it, the filthy squelching sound she’s making, resounding loudly in the quiet of the room, _god_ , how _wet she is_ … Tony’s spent length twitches but mostly he’s content to lay on his side and watch as the tips of her fingers dip inside her, just so, and curl towards her sweet spot.

With a breathy gasp, Natasha’s eyes fly open and lock with his across the bed. She doesn’t acknowledge him as she continues to touch herself in the thrumming silence but there’s subtle change to her movements, her knowing fingers stroking gently, almost teasingly, and splaying out her wet folds. Slowly, deliberately, Natasha raises her hand to her mouth and twirls her tongue around it, tasting herself. She brings her slick, spit-covered fingers between her legs and smears it – saliva, _her own wetness_ – all over her swollen pink lips.

She’s putting on a show.

“Can I, ah.” He licks his lips. “Can I maybe help you with that?”

Not breaking their eye contact, Natasha lets her knees fall apart invitingly. Tony’s throat goes very dry. He crawls across the bed and settles between her legs, Natasha’s hand coming to rest on his scalp. She sighs contently. Tony gives her an experimental lick and the fingers buried in his hair tighten forcefully.

“Bossy,” he murmurs against her lips. Natasha laughs and gives him a hard tug.

“Put this mouth to a good use, Stark,” she orders.

Tony smiles to himself and does so obediently. He sweeps his tongue over her in a broad stroke, from the soft patch of skin just under her slit up to her pelvis, and swirls it, letting the tip slip between her folds teasingly. He withdraws it and sucks gently on her puffy lips, reddened and glistening with fresh slickness. Natasha’s breath hitches and she yanks on his hair insistently. Tony gets the hint and licks his way into her tight heat, thrusting deep his tongue, and sets up a punishing pace, only pausing to nibble a little on her lips.

Her smell, it’s _everywhere_ – sweat and a faint flowery scent, body wash or perfume, and something that’s inherently _her_ , rich and sweet and strong, making his head swim with it, this close almost too intense, filling his nostrils.

His nose is buried deep in her pubic hair – Natasha never shaved here, her coarse, dark curls neatly maintained, not too long but enough that he has to spit them out from time to time, and Tony likes that, likes the way it makes her seem _human_ and more vulnerable somehow – and he’s glad he does it so often he doesn’t have to come up for air too frequently. He’s utterly lost in it, cataloguing her every noise and twitch, how she tastes under his tongue, slick and a little salty, and he can feel she’s close, she’s been close since fucking him, and it turns him on how much that turns her on…

He sucks on her clit, hard, and Natasha pulls at his hair violently, the sparks of pain exploding before his eyes, and then she’s coming with a soft cry. Tony licks it all off, coaxing her through her high. The hold of Natasha’s hand loosens and she lets herself fall back to the mattress with a content sigh. Tony gives her one last soft kiss and regrettably draws back.

Natasha looks down at him with a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips, propping herself with an arm under her head, and makes an inviting gesture with her other hand.

“C’mere,” she murmurs.

Tony braces himself on his hands and pushes up her body. Natasha wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him in a lazy kiss. Tony lets her tongue slip into his mouth, Natasha’s musky taste a sharp tang between them; she hums against his lips, pleased, and slides her hand into his hair. She pulls away a little and looks at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Did it feel good?” she purrs, her fingers are tracing idle circles on the back of his neck.

Tony hides his face in the crook of her shoulder, hot shame pooling in his cheeks and bites his torn lip.

“That was… Yeah, I felt—Yeah,” he mumbles, his throat suddenly thick. Natasha laughs quietly, not with malice, and pets his sweat-soaked hair.

“I’m glad, Tony,” she says softly. There’s something like tenderness in her voice.

Tony fits himself more comfortably on Natasha’s breast and lets his eyelids fall close. He’s too wrung out to bother with the comforter, the heavy exhaustion finally catching up to him, his limbs weighting down with sated fatigue. Natasha hums under her breath and continues to gently stroke his hair.

Tomorrow he has to drag himself out of bed – _wake up, you necessary monster_ , like a mantra in his head – and go on in the world that hates him. Tomorrow he won’t be able to look people in the eyes and he’ll have to endure every waking moment of his life with the knowledge that no matter what he does he’ll never atone for his sins.

That is tomorrow though. Right now, Tony’s warm and content in confines of this moment, feeling safe in Natasha’s arms. And if in the morning she presses a feather-like kiss to his forehead before quietly sliding out of his bed and disappearing into the day, Tony keeps his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, and lets her have that.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, be sure to check out IM #276 and #277 which are the Oktober project issues Tony is talking about. That storyline was a huge inspiration for this work, although Nat and Tony don't sleep together in that one.


End file.
